Sticks and Stones
by Supernova95
Summary: Tim felt so tired, his arms were heavy, he couldn't keep his eyes open; and yet he couldn't stop the churning in his stomach. Leslie had told him it was stress and anxiety. He was working too hard and had to cut down on his workload. But how could he? A normal night would see him up until two in the morning; a hard night would have him out until sunrise. No rest for the wicked.
**Warning: Major Character Death**

* * *

Tim felt so tired, his arms were heavy, he couldn't keep his eyes open; and yet he couldn't stop the churning in his stomach.

Leslie had told him it was stress and anxiety. That he was working too hard and had to cut down on his workload. But how could he?

Bruce had almost completely stepped back from running Wayne Enterprises, so when the board needed a family member (and they almost always needed a family member) he went, did his best for a teenager that hadn't even graduated high school, and went home. He would then have a snack, an apple and granola bar, then he would head down to his cave and set about organising his patrol.

A normal night would see him up until two in the morning; a hard night would have him out until sunrise.

No rest for the wicked.

Rinse and repeat.

Some nights, if his hands were shaking so much he couldn't trust himself on a grapple line, he'd stay in his cave and promise himself that he'd be on emergency call only. Not that anyone ever called.

It got so bad one morning that Lucius found him curled into a corner of his office having a panic attack.

Leslie prescribed him some anxiety medication; made some therapy appointments and given him mandatory leave from all of his lines of work or so help her she'd set Alfred on him.

And, it helped, for a while.

That was until his third therapy session that things turned from okay to bad to worse.

"Why don't you go home Tim? See your family? You're not alone in this remember."

Tim couldn't breathe. His heart was racing, he was shaking and he couldn't breathe.

Because he was alone it had been three weeks and none of them had realised that he wasn't out there, none of them had realised that he was only putting minimal hours in at work and then going home to lie in bed staring up at the ceiling.

Not sleeping, just staring: numb.

Leslie, bless her, noticed his change in demeanour immediately, her eyes narrowed as she asked about his home life, with the family.

He never answered, though that was probably an answer in itself.

It was when she asked if he had anyone that could come over and look after him that he finally spoke,

"No."

"Do you feel any need to hurt yourself?"

"No doc, I'm just really tired. I'll be okay, I just need to go home and sleep." He won't.

"I'd feel better if you had someone there just in case Tim, I really don't want to have to admit you, but I will if it means keeping you safe."

Tim smiled, "I know doc, I'll call Dick." He won't.

Leslie smiled, "You do that, I'll see you at the weekend?"

"Sure thing."

Leslie calls Alfred the minute Tim leaves; they're in Metropolis for the day but he promises he'll pop over later to check on the boy.

* * *

They end up being held in Metropolis overnight, Superman wanted Batman and Robin's help, so Dick and Alfred don't get to Tim's house until noon the next day.

By then it's too late.

* * *

Dick's pretty sure he's screaming, his throat hurts, he's crying. He can't believe it.

Tim's so cold, his pale blue eyes are staring lifelessly at the ceiling and Dick can't stop screaming his name. Alfred's on the phone to the emergency services but they both know they're too late; Tim's gone.

Dick barely registers the empty pillbox as he clutches his brother, how didn't he know that Tim was taking anxiety medication? How come Tim never told them? How could Dick have failed his brother so badly that he didn't know?

They have to restrain him when the paramedics arrive, when they frown sadly at them and say how sorry they are, when they take his brother away in a black bag. The only thing stopping him from collapsing is Alfred's strong arms on his. He can't get Tim's face out of his head.

He's mumbling something incoherent between deep breaths and harsh sobs.

Alfred says something about shock and the next thing he knows he's sitting in an ambulance with a shock blanket wrapped around his shoulders tears still streaming down his face.

How are they going to tell Bruce? What about the Titans? What is the press going to say?

How are they going to be able to live when Tim's gone?

* * *

Bruce gets the phone call in the middle of a meeting on the Watchtower to discuss the Lex Luthor problem with the League.

It's from Jim.

He excuses himself, if Jim Gordon is ringing Bruce Wayne's personal phone then something must be wrong.

"Jim? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Bruce…" Jim's voice tells him everything he needs to know.

"Who?"

"Bruce it's Tim."

Bruce can't breathe. The phone drops to the ground, cracking. Out of all- Tim… he can distantly hear a crash from the meeting room, but he can't focus on that because Tim.

Tim.

There's a presence beside him, he can tell it's Clark, he's hovering, unsure whether to comfort or not. Bruce collapses into him.

"Clark… Tim."

Clarks looking at him, tears in his eyes, "I know."

"Clark I… I can't remember the last time I spoke to him. Why can't I remember the last time I spoke to him? Oh God, Clark it's been weeks. He – we've just been so busy. I've been such a bad father to him, God, Clark, what if he thought I hated him? What if he died thinking I hated him?"

Clark gets them to the Batwing, setting it to auto fly back to the Batcave whilst he comforted Bruce in the back. Lex Luthor could wait.

* * *

Damian's got the front page of the Gotham Gazette in front of him. 'Wayne heir commits suicide' reads the title and it makes Dick want to throw up.

"Pfft, pathetic, he couldn't even die honourably." Damian spits, rolling his eyes. "He truly was not worthy."

Dick feels like he's had the wind knocked out of him, because now and only now is he realising that this is how Damian usually spoke about Tim. This was not a new development of a boy finally being able to speak his mind, but just another day.

Had Tim had to listen to this every time he came home? Is this why he was never home?

"The squirt was always a bit of a freak, you had to know something like this was going to happen" Jason pointedly adds. "He was bound to try something at some point, he was never cut out to be Robin." Jason laughed, "He probably never meant to kill himself at all, but just do something for attention. He just can't understand that he doesn't have a place here."

Dick ran out of the room and to the nearest toilet.

Whoever said sticks and stones may break bones but words couldn't hurt was wrong. So fucking wrong. Words hurt most of all.

Words took his little brother away.


End file.
